Domestic Bliss
by likeit
Summary: Who knew Alex Eames could have a domestic side?  Certainly not Bobby, and will he like it?  Will she?


A/N: This is came out of nowhere. Just more of a "where do we go now?" question in my mind. For SilentG and Dixie and Snyder and Skyfare and Daystar Searcher wherever you are.

OK. So this was going to be a one shot but alas, it has turned into more.

Don't own. Any of it or them.

**Domestic Bliss**

_Shortly after Loyalty ends._

The first thing he did when he got home that evening was stand in his doorway and take in his house. He noticed the cracks in the ceiling, the chipped paint, the dusty shelves and the floors (those damn linoleum floors that he could _never_ get clean). Taking in the sight he reached behind his and scratched his neck. 'I better get a job soon' he thought 'I need to hire a cleaning lady.' Then he opened the fridge and took out a beer.

/

She sat on her knees in yellow rubber gloves, scrubbing the deep recesses of her cabinet under her sink. Slowly she pulled out an old plunger, a can of comet with the blue stuff caked on the top (wonder how old that was), a dirty vase, some hard sponges and some indefinable goo. She tried sniffing at it, but then thought better of it. 'I'll bet Bobby could tell me what this is'. She sat back on her hunches and smiled to herself. It seemed thinking of Bobby always made her smile. Sigh and then smile. What was she going to do about Bobby?

/

The wind was especially unforgiving as he walked briskly up the steps. 'I'm too damn old to be trudging up steps like these everyday. Especially to work'. He thought he heard someone calling his name, but, no one here really knew him yet, and besides, it was so windy that he really wasn't sure he heard anything at all. Suddenly he felt a tug at the back of his coat.

"Eames? What…"

"Geez Bobby, didn't you hear me? I've been sprinting up these stairs after you for like two full minutes".

She was out of breath and clearly flushed from the experience. He wanted to reach out and push back some stray hairs that blew in front of her face, but kept his hands firmly around his binder. After staring at each other, she awkwardly thrust a large shopping bag in his hands.

"What's this?"

"A gift Goren. Haven't you ever gotten a gift?" Turning bright red she thought to herself 'stupid Alex. Stupid, stupid, stu…'

He grinned and pulled the box out of the bag. The box was from "Coach" and he carefully unwrapped the red ribbon from the large box. After pulling the box open, he found himself thumbing the softest leather binder he had ever touched. Closing his eyes he pulled the binder up to his nose and inhaled the mocha colored object.

"How does it smell?" Alex smirked

He kept his eyes closed for a moment and then said "Amazing". When he opened his eyes he found himself looking at an amused and very satisfied Eames. "Open it".

He obliged and found his name _Robert O. Goren _embossed on the inside upper left corner. When he could find his voice, he spoke.

"Thank you. This is the nicest present I've ever gotten. Really".

She found herself flustered as a plethora of emotions invaded her and she was only able to choke out "well…you're welcome." Then she slowly lifted her hands before his chest, hesitated and then proceeded to straighten his tie (which did not need straightening) and brush off his jacket (which was cleaned and starched).

"Now, go educate the minds of our future criminal psychologists".

He started back up the steps and then turned to watch her go. She turned at the same time and they caught each other's eyes. She mock saluted him and then was gone.

/

Standing in front of her refrigerator she contemplated the yogurt or the turkey. Most people thought that Alexandra Eames was naturally slim. Actually, she worked hard at it. Grabbing the yogurt she sat down on the floor of her living room Indian style and began to thumb through an old recipe book that had been collecting dust. Maybe she would take up cooking. Every few bites she would contemplate her diet. Throughout the years she always (or most of the time) made the healthy choice. Muffin or yogurt? Yogurt (Except Monday's. Monday's Bobby usually brought her a Danish from that bakery she loved) and even then, only half a Danish. Hamburger or salad? Salad. Skittles three times a week, but even then, only when she knew she would have time to hit the gym or go running. She was a petite woman, with small bone structure and every pound was noticeable. Yes. She had to work at it. She took another bite of her yogurt and half read the recipe in front of her. Bobby, though, was different. See, for Bobby, it wasn't so much about taste, or cravings, it was about choice. Or lack thereof. With the exception of Pastrami on Rye, or Veal Parmesan from Sal's, Bobby really didn't care what he ate. If you put a salad in front of him instead of a burger, he'd eat the salad and not complain. An apple or a chocolate bar? If the apple were in front of him, he would eat that. And probably not even realize it. Lately, he just ate what was fast or convenient. He needed more choice.

/

The end of that day found him exhausted and hungry. Who knew that teaching two college courses and office hours would take such a toll on him? He sighed as he walked up the brick path when he was hit with a delicious aroma. He stopped halfway to his door. Was that coming from his place? He automatically reached for his piece, which he quickly remembered wasn't there and hesitated again. Did someone break into his house? And if so, did they feel so bad for him when they realized that not only did he have nothing of value but his place was a disaster, that they cooked him dinner? The thought made him chuckle before he realized that someone _was_ actually in his house. Slowly he opened the door. Walking into the small vestibule he was faced with the back of Alex Eames listening to her iPod and stirring something in a big blue pot. Towel over her shoulder and hair pulled back into a ponytail she looked so _domestic._ Like she did this everyday. Carefully he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh my…Bobby! You scared the hell out of me!"

"I could say the same. What…are you doing…you know…doing here?"

She smirked. "Wow. Your skills have already eroded. I made dinner. Chicken Cacciatore, Carrots and whole wheat pasta."

Bobby smirked. "I thought you couldn't cook".

Alex shrugged. "I followed a recipe." Wordlessly he raised an eyebrow.

"What? I may take up cooking now that I have some down time. Get two plates down, would you?"

Bobby reached up to get the plates when he noticed he had pulled down two plates he had never before seen. He then opened the cabinets fully and realized that not only was he now the owner of a brand new set of dishes, but his cabinets were totally clean, and even had some kind of….he tried to think of the word….liner?

"Uh..Eames?" He motioned to the cabinets and plates. She glanced and turned back to stirring the pot.

"Oh, right. Well, See today I was out with Liz and ended up at Pottery Barn. These dishes were just too good a deal to pass up, so I bought them. But then I realized that I have dishes already, so I decided to give them to you."

"I had…_have_ dishes too."

Alex turned to Bobby and gave him a look. "Bobby, six mismatched plates and four bowls don't make a set of dishes. You needed theses. Trust me. Now you have a full set of eight. Eight dinner plates, eight salad plates, eight bowls."

"Ohhh. Right. For when I have a dinner party with all my friends and family." He answered sarcastically. Alex chose to ignore him. He went to his utensil drawer to retrieve forks and sighed when he opened it.

"Oh. Ok. So, the utensils were really great too. Don't you think?"

Bobby just muttered to himself and shook his head. As he was about to retrieve two glasses he turned to her "Am I going to find new glasses in here too?"

"Well, you can't have new dishes and utensils and still use a mug that says 'number one Yankee Fan'" I mean, really." She shook her head.

Bobby threw his hands up in mock surrender and went to grab a beer for himself and soda for Alex.

"Oh…you are kidding me".


End file.
